258 THE WOODLANDS ORCHIDS 



Vokhimen pocketed the rum bottle and followed, moving 

 gravely enough now. 



The mob shouted with astonishment at the appearance of 

 a white criminal, but when the cause of his arrest was seen — 

 that bundle of the holy Endua — astonishment changed to 

 rage. Boville owed his life to the Azan, the fetich cord, at 

 that instant. But the drummers beat furiously, and, as if in 

 response, a dozen fetich men suddenly appeared, pushing 

 through the crowd. One side of their heads was shaven 

 bare. They wore garments of hideous fantasy, charms and 

 horrid objects innumerable, and each a pair of silver horns 

 upon the forehead. Under this escort Boville marched to 

 the fetich place. 



This was a bare piece of ground, encircled by the low 

 dark dwellings of the priests, with the sacred wood behind 

 it, and in the midst the Snake Temple. Often had Boville 

 glanced into the small building, which has no door, and seen 

 the reptiles swarming inside. He did not feel the loathing 

 for snakes which is so common — happily, as it proved. 

 But no man could watch that multitude of restless, twining 

 creatures without horror. 



Led to the dreadful doorway, Boville turned, thinking 

 to resist ; but they fell upon him, doubled him up — for the 

 entrance was very low — and thrust him in bodily. The 

 poor fellow screamed in tumbling full length upon a plat- 

 form which occupied the middle. He had seen it alive with 

 snakes, writhing one over the other. 



But none were there. He scrambled to his feet and 

 looked round. The temple had no windows, but the solid 

 walls of adobe did not meet the roof, and the level sun-rays 

 of evening poured through the gap. There was nothing to 

 interrupt the view, save a besom and a basket. But no snake 

 could he see. A movement above caught his eye. He 

 looked up. 



